The Third Pines
by detectivejigsaw
Summary: In which the other Pines sibling is not an idiot, and is capable of telling the difference between his two brothers, even if one is masquerading as the other. Sort of a character study of Sherman Pines. Character death impending at the end.


Stanford Pines may have been the family genius, but Sherman Pines wasn't an idiot.

Specifically, even after this many years he could still tell the difference between his two younger brothers, even if one of them was masquerading as the other.

For one thing, there was no way Ford would (or could) ever start a blatant tourist trap and _still_ manage to successfully coerce dozens of people every day to take pictures of all its fake attractions and buy its unbelievably tacky merchandise. For another, he was calling himself Stan, and not even bothering to change his personality that much, or his voice, for heaven's sake. Finally, and this was the clincher, Shermie remembered perfectly well which sibling had how many fingers, and he wasn't buying that lame excuse about getting the extras surgically removed.

At first Shermie thought his brother was afraid he'd tell Pa about him if he admitted who he really was, or (less likely) that this was an attempt at an elaborate and somewhat tasteless prank, since he'd even gone so far as to fake his own death in a car crash. So he did his best to make Stan feel welcome during the rare occasions when he visited, hoping that sooner or later he'd open up to him.

_It's okay_, he kept coaxing mentally, _I don't care what Pa says, you're still my family. You can tell me._

But then, when there continued to be no sign of Ford or of Stan revealing his true identity to anyone, Shermie realized that something terribly, terribly wrong had happened. And he couldn't tell what.

* * *

To his frustration, even though Stan stayed closer to them than Ford had after leaving for college, as the years went by he spent more and more time cooped up in that Mystery Shack of his, still determined to keep his secrets to himself. It was a relief when he came all the way to the hospital when Shermie's grandkids were born, even if it meant he had to fight Stan for his chance to hold them. By that point Shermie had stopped pushing to find out the truth, but he still really wanted to know.

Then his age finally caught up with him, when Dipper and Mabel were eight.

His wife had already passed on a few years ago of a heart attack, at a ridiculously young age for this era; now it looked like it was his turn, this time from the big C. The doctors did all they could, but in the end he just needed to be as comfortable and out of pain as possible.

* * *

At first Shermie thought Stan wasn't going to bother coming to see him at the hospital. But then one night, long after visiting hours were over and done with and he was lying awake, alone in his cot, head too full of thoughts to sleep, the window slipped open, and in climbed his brother. Because of course that was the kind of thing he would do.

"Hey, Sherm," he whispered, seeing that he was awake as he crept to the bed. "Sorry I wasn't here sooner, but...some stuff came up." He looked ashamed as soon as he realized what he'd said, because to him of course nothing should be more important than the fact that his brother was dying.

Sherm gave him a small smile so he'd know he wasn't angry, just glad he was here. And then, without considering what he was about to say, he lifted his head and croaked, "Hey, Stanley."

Stan's smile froze, and alarm rose in his eyes...before he tried to shake it off. "Stanley's dead, Shermie. I'm your other brother, Stanford. The good one-"

Shermie reached out and took his hand to stop him. "Stanley. I know. I've always known."

He could see his brother wrestling with himself, trying to decide if there was any point denying it further...until at last his shoulders sagged.

"Guess I'm a worse liar than I thought."

"No," Shermie shook his head, "you're a great liar. I just know my brothers better than you think." He gave Stan's hand a tiny squeeze.

Stan gave him a sheepish smile...that dropped as soon as Shermie asked, "You mind telling me why, though? And what the heck happened to Ford?"

Stan flinched, looking like he'd been hit. But again, this time he seemed to think it was only fair to come clean.

* * *

To Shermie's relief, Stan didn't tell him that Ford was dead. However, what he did tell him was still pretty confusing: Ford had gotten mixed up in some kind of bad trouble almost thirty years ago, and was stuck somewhere, and Stan had spent all this time trying to find him and bring him home. Shermie could tell he was still holding something back, but it sounded enough like the truth that he believed him.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked when Stan finished. "We would've helped you. _I_ would've helped you."

Stan closed his eyes. "...I didn't know that for sure."

"Stan…" Shermie squeezed his hand again.

"I-I better go before you tire yourself out." Stan tried to slip out of his grip. Shermie responded by letting his bony-but-still-strong hand clamp vise-like around his wrist.

"Stay. Please."

Stan gulped...before pulling over a nearby chair and sitting down in it.

"Okay, okay. I'll stay until you fall asleep."

"Thanks." Shermie relaxed his hold a little when he was sure his brother meant it, but kept holding his hand. There were many other things he wanted to say-that he was sorry for everything that had happened to his brother, that he didn't have to be so afraid, that if he just opened up to his family they could work together to save Ford from wherever he'd been taken to, that he loved him-but instead all he said was a gentle, "Night, Stan."

"Night, Shermie."

* * *

**Since at the end of "A Tale of Two Stans," Stan tells Ford that Dipper and Mabel are the only family he has left, my suspicion is that Shermie is dead. Sad, really, but it also makes sense.**

**So, how'd I do?**


End file.
